


The Bark Ain't Nothing But The Bite's A Bitch

by TheseusInTheMaze



Series: Emotional Constipation [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Blood, Blow Job, Incest, M/M, Podfic Welcome, Public Sex, Punching, Violence, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 18:39:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18744817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Diego is kind of restless - he goes out looking for... something.





	The Bark Ain't Nothing But The Bite's A Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from _Good Kids_ by Helena Ruth.
> 
> This is a sequel to my fic _Pissing the Bed for Fun and Profit_!

Diego was aware that he had a few issues. The interior of his mind was a bit like the ancestral manse - lots of dusty corners, locked doors, and taxidermy. (The taxidermy was a good metaphor for memories, but maybe Diego was just going in circles, the way he does when insomnia hit hard). He liked to keep those rooms locked - why revisit all of that? He knew that he was guilty, he knew that he probably needed to deal with it, but he’d deal with it… later. And okay, he was guilty enough to have nightmares that still made him piss the bed sometimes; guilty enough that some nights he pulled every blanket he could find over his head and cried like his heart was breaking, in the silence of his childhood bedroom. He was ashamed of it, but what could he do?

There were probably some deep seated psychological reasons behind all of this - stuff to do with how he was forever striving towards becoming better than Number One, or because he’d had to kill his mother (sort of), or that he’d never had a father who loved him. Maybe because he was named “Number Two,” which would do a number (heh) on anyone’s psyche. Diego would definitely have given it more consideration, if he were prone to ruminating at any time that wasn’t three in the morning. There wasn’t much else to do, apart from lie in bed and stare at the knife marks on the ceiling. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was backsliding; here he was, thirty years old and trying to sleep in the same bedroom he grew up in. 

Admittedly, he was sleeping in his childhood bedroom in an alternate timeline after he’d saved the world from being destroyed by his sister, and it wasn’t as if he’d been living here the whole time. He wasn’t some overgrown man child like Luther. But… still. 

Diego rolled onto his stomach, pressing his face into his pillow. He groaned, grinding his hips forward absently, but getting no relief. He was… jittery. Too full of nervous energy to sleep, to anxious to jerk off, too keyed up to read a book or watch television. He wanted to run or fight or fuck - wanted to be around people, but not anyone in the house. He didn’t go out vigilante-ing anymore, wasn’t boxing much, even. But… hm.

Diego sat up, rubbing the grainy bits of sleep out of his eyes. He could go to a bar, get into a fight or fuck someone, or maybe just walk through the city until his legs started to complain. Getting out of this musty old house would do him a world of good.

* * *

An hour later, Diego was even more on edge, but now he was surrounded by sweaty people, and he had a beer. He took a swig of it, and glanced around the club - bodies writhing to the music, people at various states of dance or fuck (who could tell the difference), people talking, people laughing. It didn’t look like the kind of place that he’d find a good fight - everyone looked too friendly, except for the bouncers, who looked like slabs of beef on two legs. He’d never been one for clubs, and now he remembered why - he didn’t belong here. He belonged in an alley somewhere, becoming one with the shadows and intimidating the criminal element.

And then an especially long fingered hand smacked him in the back of the head. He grabbed the wrist, and he saw… _HELLO_. 

Huh.

“Klaus, what the fuck are you doing here?” Diego looked over his shoulder at his brother - Klaus’s skin practically _glowed_ under the UV lights, and the makeup around his eyes made them look that much deeper. He looked like the kind of monster you’d invite out from under your bed, and his smirk said he knew it. He was wearing a sleeveless tie dye shirt, and the tattoo on his arm seemed to stand out like a brand.

“I believe,” Klaus said, “that this is exactly my type of place.” He draped himself over Diego’s shoulder, and he nuzzled his cheek against Diego’s. His stubble rasped against Diego’s own, and he smelled of cigarettes, of perfume, and of sweaty human bodies. His own scent was buried in there somewhere, and it spread through Diego’s sinuses like ink in water.

Diego took a moment to let the nearness calm his jittery senses down a little bit, but then it became overwhelming, and he shoved Klaus away, for all the good it did. Klaus came back, an arm over Diego’s shoulder, the sweat from his armpit soaking into Diego’s shirt. “I thought you were sober these days,” Diego said, lacking anything else to say. 

“Ish,’ said Klaus, making a “so-so” hand motion with his other hand. “Up to a certain point, beer is like oral. It doesn’t count.”

It was a typical Klaus statement - ribald, faintly weird. For some reason, it wormed its way into Diego’s mind, echoing like they were in a cave. He coughed, and he spilled his own beer down the front of his shirt, soaking into his lap. Klaus slapped him on the back, sloshing _more_ beer onto Diego. He could have gotten a buzz from sucking on his shirt. 

“Now you’re gonna have to do more late night laundry,” Klaus said, low and sweet in Diego’s ear. His voice resonated in his chest, vibrating against Diego’s arm. It joined in with the susurrus of voices, overlaid with the beat of the music. It sent more goosebumps down Diego’s back, and he shuddered. 

“Klaus,” Diego hissed, “shut up!” He turned his head, so that he was speaking right in Klaus’s ear, and his nose was pressed into Klaus’s temple. He could smell whatever it was that Klaus washed his hair with, under all that sweat. There was _so much_ sweat - a wet trail of it down Diego’s cheek, mingling with his own sweat. It was all… disgusting, but the whole damn place was disgusting. Diego had come here for disgusting reasons, and yet here he was, sitting at the bar and drinking. Not surfing for pussy or dick, not getting into the face of the meanest fucker here, just… sitting here, warm beer soaking into his pants like piss.

Although thinking about _that_ got him thinking about… other things, and his face heated up, his cock getting hard in his pants. 

“Diego,” said Klaus, and now his hand was on the back of Diego’s neck, a proprietary grip that Diego wasn’t sure he was too fond of. 

“What?” The music pounded through him like a full body migraine. Having an erection in wet pants was… well. It wasn’t the first time he’d experienced it, but it chafed just as badly this time. 

“C’mon,” said Klaus, and he slid one hand down Diego’s arm, to lace their fingers together. The “goodbye” of his tattoo pressed against Diego’s own palm, mingling with Diego’s love line, life line. 

Diego probably should have argued, or maybe stayed in place and tried to get his game on. He was usually good at getting some, if he wanted some. Admittedly, since moving home, he’d hadn’t been wanting for any of that - the Hargreeves family was as dysfunctionally close as it had ever been. With everyone living at home again, well, Diego wasn’t wanting for… variety. There was even more variety than when he’d lived at home the first time, now that everyone was older, wiser, and less likely to come in their pants from kissing someone with a little bit of tongue. 

And yet, here he was, letting Klaus lead him by the hand, otu back into the alley, which was remarkably quiet, all things considered. The music from the club beat like a lover’s heartbeat late at night, at the very edges of Diego’s senses.

“What’s going on, Diego?” Klaus was squinting at Diego, the neon from the club’s sign reflecting off of his pale skin in shades of green, blue, and purple. 

“What do you mean?” Diego shoved his hands into his pockets, and tried to melt into the shadows the way he had in the old days. He wasn’t wearing any of his tactical gear, no leather, just a pair of black jeans, a black t-shirt. He only had four knives on him, strapped into his boots. He still felt naked, as if Klaus was staring into his very _soul_.

“You’re not the type to go to a club alone. Let alone on a Wednesday night.” Klaus was standing there, his arms crossed over his chest. He still looked… otherworldly, like something from a different realm. He was beautiful, and it was starting to piss Diego off.

“Well, if you can get sober, I can start going out at night and having some fun,” said Diego. “Someone has to be the junkie in the family.” 

Klaus’s face did… something. Diego didn’t know what it was, but it looked hurt, and it looked mad. Diego hadn’t even been aware that Klaus’s face could hold so many feelings at once. “Really?”

“I’m just saying,” Diego said, and hey, this seemed to be what he was doing. He couldn’t pick a fight with any of the meatheads at the club, so it looked like it was going to be Klaus. He’d never seen Klaus as someone to fight before, but… well, tonight seemed to be a night of opening his mind, huh?

“You’re just saying,” Klaus echoed. His voice was flat, and he still looked mad. Admittedly, “mad” on Klaus was “slightly manic” on anyone else. 

“I mean, I’ll never achieve the levels of bullshit that you -”

“What bullshit might that be? The same bullshit that’s got you out prowling like a neutered tomcat.” And now Klaus was getting closer, his face moving in towards Diego’s. This, at least, was familiar. He knew this song and dance - _get in my face, swing a punch, I’ll swing a punch back, I’ll break your nose, you knock my tooth loose_ and he was itching to get started. 

The rage was just under the surface, and Diego plunged his metaphorical hands into it, letting it burn through him like acid. His face was wrinkling up in a snarl, and his shoulders were tensing up. “You wanna come and say that to my face?” Diego was stalking closer to Klaus, and the ease of this was as good as a high. It wasn’t like fighting Luther, who was slow and ponderous, and Klaus’s temper had come closer to the surface since he’d gone sober. He hadn’t actually sparred with Klaus since they were still in schoolboy pants, and Diego was curious as to how Klaus’s fighting style had changed, after all those years on the streets doing who knew what. 

It was going to be one _hell_ of a fight.

Except now Klaus was losing his angry expression, and he looked… what did he look like?

“Diego,” said Klaus, “are you trying to provoke me?”

… Shit. Was he that transparent?

“I’d never do anything like that,” said Klaus, which was a blatant lie, but Diego could at least pretend he could maintain the fiction.

“You just want your fix, don’t you?” _Now_ Klaus was getting into Diego’s face, and his expression could best be described as ‘amused’. “Turns out you weren’t wrong, huh? Embracing your inner rageaholic? Gotta say, I think pissing the bed is a more healthy outlet.” 

“Do you have to bring up the bed pissing?” _Take a swing at him, you know you want to_ , whispered the stupid, red parts of his brain. _You want to fight, so fight_.

“I mean,” Klaus said, “you seem to be trying to hit all of my tender bits. I thought that was what we were doing.” He rocked back on his heels, and he looked thoughtful. “You’re just jonesing for any kinda action, aren’t you?” He gave Diego a long, appraising look. “You _could_ just be an adult about it and ask.” 

“Ask? Ask for what?” Diego wasn’t entirely sure was going on, presently. He had thought he did, but npw, not so much. He wanted it to stop. 

“You want to fight, right?” Klaus stretched, his arms over his head, all rawboned pale skin, and some part of Diego just _ached_. 

“You can’t just… go up to someone and say you want a fight,” said Diego, incredulous. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Why not?” 

“What do you mean, why not?” Diego was resisting the urge to pace and wave his hands around. “You don’t just… ask someone to get into a fight. It ruins the whole point of the thing.” 

“How does it ruin the whole point of the thing?” Klaus was being entirely too reasonable now, the asshole. “You asked me to hit you in the laundry room.”

Diego’s eyes darted around, as if there might have been people in the dark, hauntingly urine-scented alley who might overhear. “Klaus,” Diego hissed, stepping closer.

“There is literally nobody around,” said Klaus. “Or at least, nobody who’d be willing to admit they were here, which they wouldn’t admit to because they don’t exist because there is literally nobody else here.” 

Diego paused, trying to parse the sentence. Then he groaned, scrubbing his face with both hands. He was very sweaty, and some of that was beer, and all of it made his clothes stick to him.

“If you can ask me to hit your face when you’re gonna suck my dick, you can ask me to fight with you,” said Klaus, and he looked exasperated. “Five is right. You are thick.”

“That’s not… it doesn’t _work_ like that,” Diego said, aware that he sounded like a whiny brat, but not sure how to stop. “For a good fight, you need -”

He was interrupted by Klaus’s fist. More specifically, by Klaus’s fist connecting with his face. Right in the eye, hard enough that Diego felt it rattle in its socket. They had all taken self defense, all knew how to throw a punch. The pain of it made bile rise up in the back of Diego’s throat, and he growled and swung his own fist. This was none of the careful planned brutality he used when he was apprehending some criminal - this was all red, burning rage. His hands were shaking, his nails digging into his palms. He was forgetting all of his training, all of his hard won street knowledge flying out of his head as he, in turn, flew at Klaus. Some part of him was _reveling_ in it. He was grinning, and then he was groaning, as Klaus’s fist connected with his stomach. _Like sticking your arm in a bucket of wet laundry_ went through Diego’s mind, and he doubled over, gagging. He swung wildly, and he got Klaus in the face - Klaus’s teeth cut into his knuckles, and he made a pained noise, pulling back.

Okay, so he wasn’t a brawler these days. He wasn’t as young as he’d been in those days, either. 

He was already wheezing, even as he lashed out at Klaus with a foot, kicking his brother solidly in the shin, then swung his arm back. He got Klaus in the side, and Klaus groaned, curling forward. When he looked over at his brother, he saw- a horror. Klaus’s lip had split, and blood was running down his chin. It was ghoulish in the neon, and Diego shuddered, reaching for his harness… and finding nothing. 

“You get it out of your system?” There was something so infuriatingly _obnoxious_ about Klaus’s tone. Diego gritted his teeth. 

"Where do you get off on being so high and mighty?" Diego demanded.

And then Klaus was grabbing him by the front of the shirt, pulling him forward and walking backwards in the same motion, until Klaus's back crashed against the greasy bricks, and he was looking into Diego's face with a crafty expression. It was downright _unpleasant_ , considering all of the blood on his face. 

"Brother dearest," Klaus said, "while I _do_ understand that you're going through some shit - I truly do! - you need to work on your emotional regulation."

"Emotional regulation," Diego said, his voice flat. "Is this really the time for it?"

Klaus leaned in and kissed Diego on the mouth. It tasted like blood, and Klaus's lips were swollen and hot against Diego's own. His tongue swiped inside of Diego's mouth, moving rapidly, from Diego's tongue to Diego's cheeks, across the bluntness of Diego's teeth. He nose fit into the space next to Diego's, and Diego's whole face ached with the pain of the punch - his whole _body_ ached with wanting... whatever it was. He was still thrumming with desire, energy surging through him like a power line. 

Klaus pulled back, and his hands were in Diego's hair. "Sometimes, I think you need to be just a body," he told Diego, as his hands slid under Diego's shirt. His nails dug in, and oh, but that was a _sting_ , as Diego's sweat dripped down over the little perforations. 

"What?" Diego's hands were on Klaus's hips, and the laces of Klaus's leather pants were rough under his fingers - rough laces, soft, hot skin, smooth leather. He ran his fingers over them, again and again, just for the contrast, and his cock throbbed in his jeans like a broken tooth. He'd gotten hard when he'd thrown the first punch, and it was only getting stronger, 

Klaus forced Diego's head back, and he kissed Diego's mouth again, smearing his own blood on Diego's chin, his mouth tasting like copper and cigarettes. His hands were moving down to Diego's waist now, fumbling Diego's belt open. He found Diego's cock, trapped in cotton and denim, and he curved his hand around it. He gave it a squeeze, and Diego's hips twitched forward. 

"You're in your head a lot," Klaus said, and his voice was surprisingly conversational, considering the things that his hand was doing. "You should try to get out of it a bit."

"Are you advocating I get high? I don't want to get high." Diego's hips rolled forward, and he was shaking, still clutching Klaus's hips. Klaus's hand was bony, his fingers long. He was still being rough, and it shouldn't have been as good as it was. The rasp of Diego's underwear against the tender skin of his cock shouldn't have been so _alluring_ , shouldn't have left him so damn weak in the knees. The throbbing in his head was a counterpoint to the throbbing of his cock, and he didn't know what to do with himself, except that he didn't want to ever stop. 

"I'm not advocating you get high," said Klaus, in a long suffering voice. "Just... use your body a little more. Use it as a thing to enjoy, not just a temple or whatever the fuck it is you do with it." And then he was... _getting on his knees_ , and that was disgusting, because this alley wasn't exactly the kind of place that you'd want to connect with yourself. What if there was broken glass, or piss, or... well, anything like that. It was gross, and creepy, and Diego's head was spinning with arousal. 

"I don't understand half the shit that comes out of your mouth," Diego said, looking down at Klaus, his fingers sliding into Klaus's hair. 

"I guess I should do other things with my mouth, huh?" Klaus unbuckled Diego's pants, pushing them open like the petals of a particularly fancy flower. He pressed his face into the cotton covering Diego's cock, and he _moaned_ , taking a deep sniff. "God, you smell so fucking good."

"You're sniffing my dick and saying I smell good," Diego said flatly. "What the fuck is up with you, man? You're such a pervert."

"Says the guy who's got his dick in his brother's face," Klaus said. "After you punched said face."

"Shut up," Diego said, tugging on Klaus's hair. 

"I'm getting blood on your underwear," Klaus said, his tone dreamy. “Have you ever had someone else’s blood on your underwear?”

“I mean,” Diego said, “I’ve got my red wings, if that’s what you mean.” 

“You always struck me as being too squeamish for that,” Klaus said, and while Diego was marvelling at the odd sort of… normalcy this whole conversation had to it, Klaus mouthed at Diego’s cock, the fabric of Diego’s boxers muting the feeling.

“I… I’m not like you’d think,” Diego mumbled. His hand was heavy on top of Klaus’s head. 

“You’re not so emotionally repressed you need to get into fights in order to feel anything?” Klaus shoved Diego’s underwear down, and Diego’s cock sprang up, hitting his belly. The hem of his t-shirt was rough against it, and he shuddered at the cool air against the overheated skin, the ticklishness of Klaus’s breath gusting across the wet head. 

“A guy can’t just l-l-l-like fighting?” Diego shuddered, and then he moaned, his knees locking, as Klaus engulfed him. His tongue jabbed at the slit of Diego’s cock, and his lips were chapped and wet along the length, under the head. 

“Mmm,” said Klaus, and that had to count as something like a response, right? If you squinted and tilted your head. 

Diego put his hand on the back Klaus’s head, and he shoved his hips forward, He wasn’t being, well, considerate, but in fairness, he wasn’t feeling considerate either. Not when his head was throbbing, and he was still queasy from the fist to the guts. Let Klaus feel a little queasy. 

Klaus groaned, and he gagged around Diego’s cock, but he was pressing himself further forward, his nose mashed against Diego’s belly, his hands on Diego’s cock. He was moaning, and he was drooling. His kohl lined eyes flicked up to meet Diego’s.

How did the little shit manage to look so _smug_?

“I’m fine,” said Diego. “I’m f-f-f-fine, I just like the… fuck, Klaus, _fuck_!” He sobbed as Klaus took him in deeper. His throat fluttered around the head of Diego’s cock, and Diego was shaking, his mouth falling open. He lost track of time, lost in the throb of the music and the pulse of his cock, in the velvety heat of Klaus’s mouth and the wiry greasiness of Klaus’s hair. 

After who knew how long, Klaus pulled himself off of Diego’s cock, and he wrapped his fist around it, stroking Diego roughly, making Diego’s hips twitch forward. “You are such a mess, brother,” Klaus said, his voice rough and fucked out. 

“You’re the one blowing your brother in the alley behind a seedy club,” Diego said, and he yanked at Klaus’s hair. 

“Okay, first off,” Klaus said, and he reared up on his knees, so that he was more level with Diego’s navel than Diego’s cock, “this is not, in fact, a seedy club. I’ve been to seedy clubs. This club isn’t even a _dandelion_.”

“... what?” Diego tried to figure out whatever the fuck it was that Klaus was on about. 

“Second, _you_ are getting your dick sucked by your brother. So, like, there’s a give and take here.” Klaus stood up on wobbly knees, and he leaned back against the bricks, breathing like he’d been running. 

“You’re… I… why are you l-like this?” Diego pressed in close to Klaus, and he shuddered as his cock dragged across Klaus’s belly, leaving a wet spot on the cotton. 

“Like what? Unbelievably sexy? Attractive beyond the bounds of mortal men?” Klaus stroked Diego’s cock, a long, slow, sweet stroke that made Diego’s toes curl. 

“You’re such a j-j-jerk,” Diego mumbled. 

“Your insults aren’t passing the mustard the way they used to,” Klaus said. “Am I distracting you?” He did something clever with his wrist, something that left Diego’s eyes rolling back in his head, and then Klaus was letting go of his dick, was grabbing him by the hand.

“Passing the mustard?” Diego tried to make sense of that. “What?” He let himself be dragged over to a crate - _why was there a crate in the middle of the alley?_ \- and then Klaus was just… shoving him onto it, and fumbling his own pants open. 

“Diego, shut up,” Klaus said, and in the blue light of the neon, he looked _annoyed_ , even as he undid his pants, starting to wriggled out of them. “You’re just sitting there, looking _like that_ , and being so fucking obtuse, and it’s just… I…” He grabbed Diego’s face in his hands, shaking it gently. “You are so fucking gorgeous. It’s not fair.”

“Someone has to be,” Diego said.,He felt dazed- what was actually _happening_? His mouth tasted like blood and his balls ached with how close he was. His head was throbbing, his eye swelling shut, and Klaus was just… yanking his own pants down, off of one leg, then climbing on top of Diego. His bony knees dug into Diego’s sides, and his cock dragged over Diego’s belly as their chests pressed together. 

“You’re such an idiot,” Klaus said, and he sounded surprisingly vicious as he pressed his forehead against Diego’s. “You’re an idiot, and a meathead, and it’s not _fair_ that you’re so hot. It’s not fair you get to be hot and be funny and to…” He seemed to be running out of steam, because now his mouth was against Diego’s, and he was kissing Diego. His tongue was in Diego’s mouth, his teeth digging into Diego’s lip, and one of his hands was wrapping around the base of Diego’s cock. His nose mashed against Diego’s, and his breath was hot and stank of beer and cigarettes.

“You think I’m f-f-funny?” Diego shuddered, and then he gasped, throwing his head back and hitting it against the bricks with a hollow ‘thunk’. 

“Looks aren’t everything,” Klaus said, his voice breathless. He had that same manic intensity on his face, and the fingers of his other hand were digging into Diego’s shoulder. 

Diego shuddered, and his whole body broke out into goosebumps, his mouth falling open. There was hot, squeezing softness all around his cock, as Klaus sank down onto him. There wasn't the drag Diego would expect - _did he come here expecting to get fucked? Has he already been fucked tonight?_ \- and then all his thoughts were gone, because Klaus was fully seated on him. 

“You just said I was hot,” Diego said, and he was holding on to Klaus’s hips. He was holding on to Klaus’s cock with his other hand, spreading the wetness of Klaus’s pre-come along the shaft. 

“Shut up with your logic,” Klaus snapped. “Your face… god, I want your face.” He was kissing along Diego’s cheekbone, leaving a snail trail of spit as he _licked_. 

“You can have it,” Diego said, and no, that wasn’t what he meant to say, that was nowhere near what he had meant to say. He was going to say something cutting, something funny, something that would make Klaus writhe on his cock. But no, what was coming out of his mouth was something else. something … deeper. “You can have it, it’s yours.”

“I can have your face?” Klaus, to his eternal credit, at least just took it. He squeezed around Diego, with each stroke of Diego’s hand around his cock. “You gonna give it to me, Diego? Give it to me, c’mon, give it to me.” His fingers were digging into Diego’s neck, tangled into the hair at the back of Diego’s head, occasionally giving it a yank.

“Take it,” Diego said. “Take it. T-t-t-t-ake it, take it, you can have it, fucking take it, p-p-p-please, Klaus, fuck, please!” Klaus’s ass was tight, and it rubbed him, squeezed him, left him practically cross eyed, except he was looking up into Klaus’s face, and Klaus… Klaus’s expression was faintly terrifying. Klaus was looking into his very soul, and he didn’t know what to do with that. He wanted to hide, he wanted to run, he wanted… he wanted to keep his cock buried as deep inside of Klaus’s squeezing tightness for as long as possible, preferably forever. He dug his fingers into the dip of Klaus’s hip, and Klaus’s dick twitched against his belly.

“I’ll take your face, Diego, I’ll break your face, I’ll eat you alive and spit out your bones, god, _fuck_ , do that again…” Klaus was rolling his hips, riding Diego like a ride at the carnival, and Diego was acutely aware that they were doing this, here and now. He was fucking his brother in an alley, and his mouth tasted like blood, his eye still swelling shut, his cock pulsing inside of Klaus. This was disgusting, depraved, it was… he didn’t know what it was, except there was so much of it that it was making his head spin. It was a painful wanting, like walking into a dragon’s cave in a suit of armor. He was nothing but a crushing black hole of need, and what was he going to even do with that?

“Do it, break it, please,” Diego said, and he would have been embarrassed if he had it in him to care right now. He was… begging. What was he begging for? What did he want? “It’s… god, Klaus, your ass is…” He jerked Klaus off, and Klaus moaned, his whole body taut and rippling against Diego’s own. 

“I know, it’s pretty amazing,” Klaus agreed, and then he hissed, his teeth up against Diego’s cheek. He wasn’t biting Diego’s face, but only because there wasn’t any pressure. If Klaus bit down, Diego would be pretty well fucked - how would he even _try_ to explain a facial bite mark? “God, your dick, Diego, you’re so… your dick is gonna make me come. You want that, _bro_? You want your brother to come on your dick?”

“God, you’re fucked up,” Diego mumbled, and he was jerking Klaus faster, “You’re so… you can… I want…” He didn’t know what was going on - where was his filter? There were all of these feelings welling up inside of him - all that restless energy, finally spilling out of him with every thrust of his hips, as Klaus bounced on his dick. It was like something out of a blue film, except Diego would never admit to watching that kind of blue film, except right now he was… oh, he was very much experiencing it, he was feeling it, he was feeling _everything_.

“You’re just as fucked up,” Klaus repeated, and then two of his fingers were pressing down on Diego’s tongue, and Diego bit down until he tasted more copper, and he shuddered. “Diego, you sick fuck, I love you, brother, you sick _fuck_ , your dick is… I’m so… yeah, jerk me off, just like that. Just like that, jerk my cock and fill my ass, just like that…” 

Diego’s head smacked back again, and he cried out, his eyes squeezing shut. He was still biting down on Klaus’s fingers, and he was still shaking, thrusting up into him like a machine. He was going to make Klaus come on his cock, he was going to come, he was going to let Klaus do whatever the fuck Klaus wanted, because some part of him still wanted to fight, still wanted to _hurt_ , still wanted to feel the energy blistering out of him.

Klaus shoved his fingers down Diego’s throat, and his cock spat come across the backs of Diego’s knuckles. His ass tightened around Diego, rhythmic pulsing that left Diego completely boneless, as the pressure at the base of his skull built and built. His heart was beating louder, the sore spots on his face and in his gut pulsing and pulsing, tears dripping down his face, and how had that happened?

Klaus took his fingers out of Diego’s mouth, and they smeared across Diego’s cheek, wet with spit and blood. He held onto Diego’s face, and he forced Diego’s eyes on him. “I’ll eat you alive, if you let me,” Klaus crooned. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” He did something sinuous and clever with his hips, and Diego couldn’t look away. Klaus’s eyes were ghoulish in the neon, and his ass was tight, his nails sharp. “I’ll break your face, I’ll eat you up, and we both know that’s what you want, isn’t it, Diego? You don’t want to get into stupid fights in alleys, you want to be _taken_. You just want.” His lips were red with blood, like a vampire from an old movie.

“Please,” Diego said, and his voice cracked. “P-p-please.” 

And then he came. 

It was like being punched in the face, all those hours ago. Hours? Minutes? Seconds? He didn’t fucking remember anymore, he didn’t remember anything except the fact that he was _coming_. His head throbbed in time with his dick, in time with the pain in the rest of him. He slumped back against the wall, still trembling, the pleasure rolling over him like being knocked ass over teakettle at the beach.

Klaus watched him with those big green eyes of his. “Better?” He patted Diego’s cheek. “Maybe ask like a big boy next time, instead of us having to brawl like a pair of drunken idiots.”

“Aren’t you drunk?” Diego winced, as Klaus climbed off of his cock. The cold air was almost like sandpaper, and he shoved his cock back into his pants - he was going to have to shower when he got home.

“A guy has _one_ beer, and suddenly he’s fallen off of the wagon,” Klaus groused, as he fumbled his pants back on. “Jesus, Diego, when was the last time you jerked off? I feel like I’m in one of those weird Japanese pornos.”

“Isn’t that what falling off the wagon is?” Diego watched as Klaus pulled his own pants up, making a face. He dug around in his own pockets, and shoved Klaus a napkin. 

“I’m still on the wagon,” said Klaus. “I may be… dangling a foot off of it, but the rest of me is firmly on it.” He was wiping his ass with the napkin, making a face. “C’mon. Let’s go home. We can put a steak on your eye.”

“A steak,” Diego said, deadpan, and he hopped off of the crate, spitting out the blood in his mouth. “Haven’t you gotten black eyes before?”

“I’ve endeavored to avoid them,” said Klaus, and he looped his arm in Diego’s. “C’mon, bro. You look tired.” 

Diego yawned - he still had a few traces of the residual jitteriness on the edges of his consciousness, but exhaustion was beginning to pull at his bones. “You’re not putting a steak on my face,” he told Klaus, as the two of them wandered their way out of the alley.

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to my beta - I'll eat you up, I love you so.


End file.
